


In Recognition

by onanotherworld



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Enjolras Was A Charming Young Man Who Was Capable Of Being Terrible, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Karaoke, M/M, Multi, R is snarky, Unresolved Sexual Tension, enjy gets frustrated, gratuitous use of a proclaimer song, its caught me, pre slash, slight songfic, this fic really ran away with me, welp, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 04:56:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1253665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onanotherworld/pseuds/onanotherworld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An argument, and a tentative peace. </p>
<p>
  <em>Whatever little dignity he had left, it was prompting him to say this, he leant forwards on his table, cigarette in the side of his mouth, eyes fixed on Enjolras’, who had begun to look ashamed of himself, “If I'm useless and incapable as you say, well then rest assured, so are you!”</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Recognition

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from In Recognition by the Proclaimers

In the Café Musain, a certain Grantaire had it up to here with idealistic bullshit. 

 

They were just wrong. That's it. Just wrong. In many other walks of life, there was middle ground, but not this; Apollo was wrong, however much R would like him to be right. 

 

“How many of us are there? There is no question of postponing this horrific matter until tomorrow. Revolutionists should always be hurried; progress has no time to lose!” Enjolras was making a speech, as he was wont to do; the Café lights gleaming on his hair angelically. Everyone was absorbed, as Grantaire usually was, however he'd had a shitty day and hadn't had a drink in far too long. He was still disgustingly sober, not even bothered to uncurl from his corner and stop smoking his cigarette and get a drink.

 

It didn't help that Marius and Cosette were doing their fluff- love parade thing, cuddling and snuggling not two tables from where he sat and so were Joly, Musichetta and Bossuet. Ugh. The world was too full of happy couples for Grantaire to function today. They didn't seem to get that the others were wisely staying away, after taking in his stormy brow and his guitar that was so carelessly swinging from side to side.

 

“Oh no, my Fearless Leader,” R drawled from his corner; he really couldn't stand to hear another word of this.

 

“What, Grantaire?” Ground out Enjolras, turning towards the man with his face gradually becoming redder and redder. R smirked, this was how he liked his Apollo best, full of passion and ferocity.

 

“What makes you think people will come? The Day of Silence is a nice idea, yes, even I can agree with that, and I have no problem with it, but it won't make a difference. All it's going to do is make dickheads in school and work easier to pick on people, ’cause they can't defend themselves on,” Grantaire makes quotation marks with is hands, and before Enjolras can start ranting at him, he continued, “this Day of Silence.”

 

“But that's what it's meant to represent! The lack of movement against homophobic bullying!” Enjolras burst out, hands clenching to fists at his side. Combeferre shared a look with Courf that Grantaire cannot even begin to decipher, while the rest just sigh in indulgent exasperation. Éponine whispered in to Jehan’s ear that made him bite down on his fist to contain his laughter. Something that sounded like: “Sexual tension through the wazoo,”.

 

“So what's it going to do? Have a lot of gay people beaten up? How is that different from the norm, dear Apollo?” Grantaire countered, pushing his feet onto the table top.

 

“We've got to _try!”_ Enjolras fumed, barely containing himself.

 

“Yeah,” Grantaire chuckles bitterly, taking a long drag off his cigarette, “Like that ever worked before.” 

 

Enjolras looked ready to scream with frustration, “Grantaire, you're incapable of believing or thinking or willing or living or dying!”

 

This hit Grantaire with all the force of a blow, in fact, he'd rather Enjolras had hit him. It made his eyes smart and his breath come irregularly in his chest. The rest of the Les Amis looked shocked and a few looked angry at Enjolras for his unnecessarily harsh outburst, Combeferre and Éponine in the number. 

 

It was true that Grantaire thought himself worthless, but whatever little dignity he had left, it was prompting him to say this, he leant forwards on his table, cigarette in the side of his mouth, eyes fixed on Enjolras’, who had begun to look ashamed of himself, “If I'm useless and incapable as you say, well then rest assured, so are you!” 

 

_You're not Apollo, you're so much better, how could I say that you're worth everything compared to me, please please forgive me whatever I've done please don't hate me-_ Grantaire shut the voice down. He didn't need anymore of his own pathetic thoughts tonight.

 

His piece said, he walked to the bar and got the strongest alcohol they had, and downed it in one go, and asked for another. The barmaid looked at him with something akin to fear in her eyes, she’d probably never seen someone do that before, Grantaire reasoned.

 

Sitting hunched on the barstool, he heard the heavy tread of Bahorel coming closer. A friendly hand slapped him gaily on the back. “You alright, mate?” He asked Grantaire, slipping onto the barstool next to him.

 

“Never better.” Replied Grantaire, staring at the bottom of his glass.

 

**

 

Later, when the formal meeting was over, the informal one started, Grantaire well on his way to complete drunkness- a feat for him- Courf shouted with huge over enthusiasm, “Karaoke! Let’s do karaoke!”

 

Groans answered from every one in the room, including Grantaire, and Enjolras’ words were still echoing in his head, _“Grantaire, you're incapable of believing or thinking or willing or living or dying!”_ He took another drink.

 

“Yeah!” Boomed Bahorel, thumping his fist onto the bar.

 

“C’mon, let’s have R first, he's the one with the golden voice!” Courf was tipsy, otherwise he'd remember the confrontation from before and he'd realise that it was Enjolras with the golden voice, not him. Suddenly R was feeling far too sober for this shit.

 

Bahorel shoved him forwards, “Go on, R!” 

 

Possibly because he was drunk, possibly the challenging look Courf sent his way, possibly the fact that Enjolras’ burning blue eyes were on him, Grantaire complied, albeit reluctantly. 

 

Jehan handed him his guitar, giggling madly and whispered, “Go get ’em R!” R acknowledged this with a easy smile, which normally only came when he was drunk, or getting there.

 

Grabbing his guitar, he made his way towards the tiny stage at the back, with Courf constantly dogging him shrieking “Taylor Swift! Taylor Swift!” In his ear. Shoving him away good-naturedly, he climbed to the microphone, with no utter idea what he was going to sing. Then, an idea occurred to him.

 

A bad one.

 

It wasn't a good idea to sing that song, even with its fuck the establishment connotations. Especially if Enjolras knew he was singing it at him. Although, when doesn't he sing with Enjolras in mind? Everything seems to relate to him nowadays.

 

His fingers strummed indecisively on the strings of the guitar; and the crowd of his friends quieted, however momentarily. Giving in to the pull, he strummed the opening chords to _In Recognition._

 

_In recognition of a hundred million protests held,_  
In recognition of your popularity  
You take your gaudy prize,

 

Enjolras’ eyes found Grantaire’s, who tensed, but nevertheless kept singing.

 

_From people you said you despise,  
You wear your self-respect upon your bended knee,_

_In spite of all your claims,_  
It looks like you're just the same,   
As every other clown who likes to put the crown,  
Before or after their name 

 

Grantaire kept his eyes locked with Enjolras’, each syllable sung with deadly precision. Apollo’s body was as tense as a wire, and he looked like he was barely containing himself again, much to Grantaire’s smug enjoyment, through it was tempered again with bitterness. Jehan was leaning up on the stage, listening intently, with a small smile on his face, Éponine was tapping her feet with the rhythm of the song, and Courf had dragged Combeferre up to dance, though it wasn't that type of song. But hey, that's Courfeyrac for you. Even Joly, Musichetta and Bossuet and Marius and Cosette had reined in the fluff parade to listen. Grantaire felt nervous with all their eyes on him. 

 

_In recognition of your service to the working class,_  
In recognition of your party loyalty,  
You get an ermine robe,  
And you declare when you are probed,  
You only took it so the missus would be pleased 

_In spite of all your claims,_  
It looks like youre just the same,  
As every other clown who likes to put the crown,  
Before or after their names 

_Oh vanity,_  
It gets them one by one,  
Patronage, monarchy,  
But only in tale, rarely frail 

 

At the mention of monarchy, Enjolras snorts through his nose like a charging bull, opens his mouth, and then closes it again. By this time, the whole bar is staring. Grantaire feels himself sweating but kept singing. He breaks eye contact with Enjolras to focus on his playing. He felt a sense of loss, as he always did.

 

_In recognition of your bravery up on the stage,_  
In recognition of your bank ability,  
You get to wait in lines,  
With soldiers crippled by land mines,  
And you don't get irony 

_In spite of all your claims,_  
It looks like you're just the same,  
As every other clown who likes to put the crown,  
Before or after their name,  
Their name,  
Their name,  
Their name. 

 

As the last chords trailed off into silence, people started to cheer. Grantaire blushed, and made his way back over to the bar shakily. He drank the last of his drink and ordered another.

 

“That was great, R!” Gushed Cosette, hugging him, Marius hanging awkwardly back. Grantaire hugged her in return, it was impossible not to hug Cosette.

 

“It was nothing,” Grantaire said, rubbing the back of his neck with a half-smile.

 

“Yes it was, it was amazing! Wasn't it, Marius?” She elbowed him pointedly.

 

“Er, yes, yes it was cool!” Marius said, blushing tomato with the attention.

 

Grantaire smiled at them. As they moved off, chatting sweetly to one another, Enjolras strode up. (oh no, he couldn't just _walk,_ he had to _stride_ )

 

“Why'd you sing that song?” Asked Enjolras brusquely, a look of neutral curiosity on his face.

 

“Why do you think, Apollo?” R answered, taking another swallow of his drink, and Enjolras’ nose wrinkled ever so slightly.

 

Grantaire, catching this, soured, he took another drink.

 

“For God’s sake, put the bottle down, Grantaire!” Snarled Enjolras, hands curling into fists at his side again.

 

“No.” Said Grantaire, clutching the bottle, the music blaring from the karaoke machine making him dizzy, “Call this a rebellion of my own, Apollo.” He drank deeply and walked out, forgetting his guitar, which he would regret in the morning.

 

Jamming his hands into his pockets, Grantaire curved his shoulders inwards against the biting wind, the dreary surroundings complementing his mood perfectly. 

 

He'd gotten about a block and a half, drinking moodily all the way, when suddenly, “Grantaire! Wait!” 

 

Grantaire started and turned, and his eyes widened to see Enjolras coming up the pavement at a run. R stopped.

 

Enjolras came wheezing up beside him, “Wait, that wasn't the conversation I meant to have.”

 

“Argument you mean,” muttered Grantaire, and Enjolras shot him an irritated look. Twisting his lips sardonically, R said, “What was the conversation, oh Fearless Leader, then?”

 

“I mean-um- well,” 

 

“Rendered you speechless, have I, must be a first!” Grantaire couldn't miss this opportunity to tease him, even though is mind was screaming, _be angry, damnit! Can't you remain mad at him for more than two seconds?!_

 

Enjolras was obviously frustrated by his lack of ability to put into words what he wanted to say.

 

“C’mon, Apollo, use your words, you have a great many at your disposal.” 

 

Enjolras glared at Grantaire, who shrugged innocently, “Hey, don't look at me.”

 

After a few minutes, Enjolras seemed to get to grips with what he wanted to say. “Why do you even come to this group if you don't believe in anything?”

 

Now it was R’s turn to be frustrated. “You are the most oblivious idiot on the planet, you know that don't you?”

 

Enjolras stared at him, nonplussed, “What?”

 

Putting his palm to his face, he said, somewhat muffled, “I believe in you, you complete and utter arse.”

 

Enjolras gaped and spluttered, “But- what, I don't understand-”

 

“Yeah, well join the club,” said Grantaire wearily, and began to walk up the street again.

 

Enjolras grabbed his arm, stopping him short. Grantaire looked disbelievingly at the hand around his arm. Enjolras bit his lip, “Thank-you, R.”

 

Yeah, they hadn't got off to a good start, but now, standing in the street with the wind howling around them, and Enjolras’ hand tightening on Grantaire’s arm; he had a feeling that things were going up from here.

 

Grantaire grinned at him, feeling lighter already, “It’s not a problem.”

**Author's Note:**

> AGAIN, WHAT IS UP WITH MY TENSES
> 
> I swear english is my first language


End file.
